


Dva

by bible



Category: A Clockwork Orange (1971), A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess
Genre: Double Penetration, Drugged Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, Nadsat, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bible/pseuds/bible
Summary: And down I went, looking at the white teeth stuck in Dim’s pink, guffing gums, bracketed by the red cosmetics that looked like iron swimmy krovvy plastered on his goobers, O patient listeners. Please, refrain from touching yourself now. Do not think of me as a victim here! But don’t think I wanted it!I would never lie to you, so I will tell you with all horrid recollection what happened to me next.Fulfilled Ko-fi request.





	Dva

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> a gift for my disgusting communist. happy birthday, you ruskie.

                I’d had the sensation of their glazzies crawling all over my back since the moment I stepped out of the mesto and into the crisp night where the air lapped at me until I was awake and aware and ready and my head was thrumming real powerful and rustling with all the oriental notions of meditation and western notions of practicality. I was hyperaware, I was a god on my legs. And behind me my two sweet droogs, my Georgie and my Dim, crawling their hideous blue glazzies up and down my back. I could feel it. I could feel it like spider legs tickling my skin. And my chin kept notching to the side, my head tilting just enough to let them know I was suspicious and insecure. Viddying me. What it’s like to be viddied—to be seen: well I think I’d know in time. I’d say it’s a lot like a light. I’d say it’s a lot like roaming hands being put on you, wet damp hands. Not pressing, no—just wet damp hands roaming their way up and down your body, with that distant, tingling moisture iddying your skin want to shed itself.

                I turned on my heel and started going backways, walking just like I had when I was going frontways. I smiled a Hollywood star devotchka smile. In the overhead light from this pink old bar that we didn’t go to, for there were militsia there in the night, I bet I looked rouged and flushing. I bet my zoobies were glinting in the pink like a mouth full of cherry. I bet I’d look good on stage. I think they were thinking the same thing in their pea-baby mozgs, because those primordial cavemen huffing in their makeup and their suits came closer to me as I turned a corner still going backways (no, I didn’t even glance over, and I still avoided the black puddle whose reflection displayed that space between their legs that must have been warm and ready) and I govoreeted the both of them, my voice lilting and playful, “What’s with the unwavering smotting, droogies? Have you found me to be a whorish soomka on this day?”

                I hit my gulliver on the streetlight behind me and stopped walking backwards, and this pain came into it and started blooming hysterical and it knocked out the zen garden of tranquility I’d stored up there. I couldn’t think for a second, and I huffed indignantly as my droogies— _my own pals_ —producing this _huh-huh-ha-ha_ noise, smecking at their own leader and friend: Alex. I put a curled fist beneath my glazzies and the lashes I wore tickled my fist and my lips twitched in minimal pleasure as I faked out a platch, real convincing, but fake enough so they’d know I was no coward.

                “Oh, to be so mocked…” I wailed, and threw my arms around the both of their shoulders, playing along, _right, I’m the fool,_ I thought in my gulliver bitterly, “…I suppose it’s the only thing a ptitsa like me has to offer. I’m entertainment but I’m not talented.”

                Dim goes, with that hefty laugh of his under his ugly chest: “ _Ah-huh-huh-ha_ , poor little Alex, has he hit his gulliver?”

                Oh, and that got me angry, but I didn’t creech or crow or honk, I simply put my head back and swallowed and knew how I looked, hanging off men, and I pulled both Georgie and Dim close by and pressed the side of my cheek, pale and white as China, to the rouged, fat cheek of my colleague. “It is your fault, you were distracting me with your viddying. Now, tell me, O brothers, what did you find about me so enticing that you’d go on to disturb Alex and have him hit his head?”

                Georgie spoke, which was good, because Dim produces noises reminiscent of his name. “Nothing, Alex, we weren’t viddying nothing.”

                “Oh, you liar. I could feel it. The crawling of bugs on my back as you looked. Hunting me. I could feel the scope on my back!”

                And Georgie and Dim exchanged a secretive glance like a note passed between them, like some malenky malchicks in skolliwoll, and never had I felt so excluded and outcast from my own banda than I did right then so I decided to hit the both of them in the gullivers with my fists, curled and capable.

                (With the powers of retrospect I can conclude that this here, O brothers, was the fire that incited the nachinatting of the deed ittied to dear old Alex on this sickly winter night.)

                Now, it’s not like I wanted to drat on my pals, but I was feeling like real mad. Fiery, and even humiliated. Oh, secrets—I have none from them and nor should they from I!

                “Your nature,” I lectured like some lehrerin, “Of secrecy is getting me real hot. And if you don’t spill your plans, if you don’t stop pretending to be innocent malchicks, I’ll be hotter.”

                As Georgie nursed his head with his palm where I hit him, he grinned at me, but Dim was all sniveling and boo-hooing. “Okay, Alex, we’ll govoreet. Why don’t we just sit down and we’ll govoreet?”

                So the three of us: I, magnificent and Romanesque as I strolled; Georgie, all giddy and smug like some tomkot; and Dim, so fat and dull and lazy, we went on in to what isn’t quite as good as a Korova Milk Bar but had a lacquered valise-like red booth and in it we planted ourselves, hunched over and peeting our drinks, which really got me lucid and dreamy after a few swallows.

                Georgie started, “As exciting and not-tiresome-at-all as a cashgrab-n-go is, I don’t got no use for cutter tonight, cause I got a need that can’t be quenched by any old soomka. Sometimes I get these _specifics_ , these wants—”

                I gave a big fake yawn, showing off the red inside of my mouth, and put my hands behind my head. Cut him a stare that expressed all my impatience with the whole matter and I looked at Dim, who seemed to be less huffy now, but was shouldering up next to Georgie, nodding and going “yeah, yeah,” when he spoke.

                “And why, why, why, should we fulfill Georgie’s wants? Couldn’t you stay at your domy and call in all bolnoy like Pete if you’re so plagued by your wants?”

                “Well, viddy, Alex, viddy, I want something that I got to have when I’m out and on the prowl! I got to have something I can’t get! I’m fagged of cutter-getting, I’m fagged of drats. Only for tonight, listen.”

                Dim nodded, huffing, _yeah, yeah_ , and I thought about it. I put my hand to my chin and I thought really hard and came to the scientific conclusion of evidence, and so I ducked my gulliver down beneath the bar’s table and viddied the gum speckled on the wood was like a show of stars, multi-colored, and Georgie’s hard cock was there beneath all that candy in his pants, probably as red as cherry too.

                I poked my gulliver back up over the table and opened my mouth to govoreet and cackle and guff, but as soon as I did all the color went from my face, right, making me look like, real scared. Probably white as animal underbelly.

                “Me! It’s me you want!” deduced I, a scandalized hand going to my chest and an indignant one hurting the table as I hit it, and before I govoreeted something of protest and of accusation, before I speeched on about it all, I guess the vellocet wasn’t really vellocet because down I was going, sleepy I was. I felt pillowed as I slumped and I knew then in me swimming, milky mozg that there was a reason Pete wasn’t here and there was a reason I knew (because I am very, very smart) that those looks were amiss! And there was a reason the firegold schmeckt of sleep!

                And down I went, looking at the white teeth stuck in Dim’s pink, guffing gums, bracketed by the red cosmetics that looked like iron swimmy krovvy plastered on his goobers, O patient listeners. Please, refrain from touching yourself now. Do not think of me as a victim here! But don’t think I wanted it!

                I would never lie to you, so I will tell you with all horrid recollection what happened to me next.

                I had been privodeeted for privacy, I think, because Dim’s wet, hungry hands were pushing me along, and Georgie’s arm was slung around my back, holding me up like straight, like a mannequin. One of those milky ones at the bar. And I was watching the lights pass by instead of things, just these abstract colors as I was pushed through the cold, but the colors stopped coming in because I guess we’d been put out of the city or out of the good part of the city that had electricity, and all that. Or I was getting really fagged. Well, my glazzies just weren’t rabbiting very good, is all.

                Time went. I felt moved as like on a river.

                Then I was put on my bum, sitting on some cold stretch of rain-wet concrete like some ded, and I heard the both of them guffing around me or at me, and I found it pretty funny, too. So I stretched out my arms and legs on the cold floor and I counted the millions of pinprick tingles in them, realized I couldn’t lift them. But it was not panic, I felt—no, my generous listener—it was hysteria in the most blissful form. I felt it billow out of my rot like a stream of wet vomit, and my eyes caught pretty glimpses of my two droogies who were close to my face now. I kept laughing, like I’d been tickled senseless, this howl I made, well, it was of pure, exhausted joy. The more I smecked the more I hurt, and my big red heart started catching in my shiyah. I looked at the faces near me, made-up pretty as polly and I thought of showstopping ladies at cabarets and jokers and I arched up to grab the first pair of goobers smeared with paste upon my own. I don’t know which one I kissed, but it iddied them all enthusiastic like. And then I was bereft of my dignity and my trousers, leaving me in my neezhnies. I was a pretty malchick, I knew, and my droogies here took notice.

                “My, Alex, what a soft pair of legs you’ve got on!” cried Dim (undeniably Dim), feeling up my pale thighs with his clammy palms.

                “Shut up, you bastard!” I managed between laughs, but it was all smiling-said. I thought about it and in my gulliver that was intoxicated and swimming as if I’d lowered myself into the warm undercurrent of some southern sea, I thought that I was very proud of my droogies in all their distrustful and adoring haste to get me going on the old in-out-in-out. You see, I am so loved…

                Then off went my neezhies and my shirt and all the rest of my uniform, and I made a sound like a dog, my brothers, because the ground below was wet and cold and brick. I put out a hand and managed to catch one of my droogs by the neck of his worn uniform now an eggy color, from age and all, and I gave him a playful warning in my handsome voice, “Just what’ll you do to poor little Alex? You’d be right to prepare for—”

                Dim, the big old doofus, stuck two fat fingers in me then and I flailed like a real young ptitsa getting her flower splayed for the first time ever and I realized, that’s quite just what was happening! And whatever I was about to govoreet or threaten was stolen from my mouth.

                But this show of badness and this show of sexual prowess was borne from the all-consuming muse the both of them were poisoned with: me! And while they are disgusting boys, I felt real horrorshow, real high, at the thought of my marble-carved body inspiring in these primitive Roman warriors—for I still have the utmost _respect_ for these cavemen of mine—the lust that would bring them to the point of homosexuality!

                I thought (as I was being exposed and fondled, and oh, yes, I liked Georgie’s spit and tongue going to my hole now, making me relax and go back and arch like a tomkot), that I must be the most beautiful malchick in the world.

                Well, I’ll stop govoreeting to you about my mozg on-goings now and give you, oh perverse reader, what you want. I understand, too, that speak is nothing and all the brain-fuzzies I’ve given you aren’t as excitingly visceral as the old in-out-in-out, and that you are groping at your genitals, just as Dim was groping at mine.

                Yes, Dim was going at my pan-handle, then, tugging on it with the stupid skill of a mentally-inflamed fool, desperate to get his rocks off. I put my hips up into his grip and felt the nachinats of fevered sweat prickle on my skin, in contrast to the ice-wet-ice on my back. My ass, though, was being parted with Georgie’s thumbs like some peachy fruit and his tongue went on doing the thrusting where his fingers and cock later would, and I was feeling open and wet and pliant. I was feeling really slutty. My tool, curved against my flat, pale belly, held in Dim’s hand, wept in pleasure.

                Out I cawed and huffed and cried, “You sods, using me like some whorish ptitsa, what would thy mothers do? Huh? What about your old ems? Poor things, their glazzies all globby-wet…” but I put my thighs (that were getting lots of praise and strokes from Dim) around Georgie’s head as he kept on eating at my most private part like it was a mounch. I felt very good and my stomach gave a hot dry swoop when he came off and made this loud smack like noise with his goobers, and I peered down, my vision still dipping and psyching, and I saw his mouth all red with lipstick and I said to him, I said:

                “Why stop?”

                Well, that was enough to get the both of them real excited and manic and I went onto my stomach then. I put my palms on the ground and scraped my chin against the concrete. Then my hips were being pulled up and the both of them made these wet suckling noises with their mouths and I didn’t feel nothing so I guess it was their fingers for a little bit of courtesy, and I felt real like pampered like.

                Then it was real horrorshow; the both of them treating me whorish as they put their fingers in me and pressed around and pushed and I felt two, one from each of them, I guess, because back there they were going, “Viddy that, just taking it!” “Ah-ha-ha, yeah, he likes it! He really does!”

                And then there were more and I drooled out a caw of, “Quit your funning, you scoteenas!”

                Ah, but those cows, they went for it then. Georgie hissed at me, “Hey, Alex, still got a mouth when you’re being played with like a devotchka?” And would you believe it, that awful, lovely malchick, went and put his hand on my sharries. They went tight, pumped out a wad of leaky jizz and I made a wounded-animal like noise. I spread my legs and then Dim, who’d come to like the ol’ stems, gave one a good slap on the back of the thigh, and I felt as admonished as a schoolboy, and went whine, whine, whine.

                “Right right right,” said Georgie, to Dim, as I squirmed and huffed, impaled upon their wrists, hooked like a fish as my asshole stretched and twitched around those prying hooked fingers, trying not to think of how undignified this type of acting is. I thought of those big beautiful artworks of David with his sharries out in the boot-shaped country and thought that strong homosexual is what I ought to be. So I mustered some composure. “Shall we go on?”

                “Yeah, yeah,” Dim said, and I heard the rustling of cloth, and my breath came from betwixt my goobers, hot as chai. “Get it in him.”

                “Oh, _YES_! Go on! Go on and stick it in, you see, I don’t mind. Would you like to ask permission first? Or are thou not so versed in the politeness of the civil world?” I cried sarcastically, I gave them a very ironic look over my shoulder like, and I saw my two droogies flushed and playful and felt an immense amount of hatred and admiration for the both of them, for you can’t be too angry with a hard-on. And besides, I’d rather it them than some awful godman or ancient orange or the like. For as ugly as the both of them are, they were young, and they were far preferable to wrinkled old hairy palms or something. This—you viddy—this was an exercise, a measure of badness and of sin and of trust. For not a word of this would be govoreeted to another, a little secret among our gang! For while I keep no secrets from you, my brother, and from my droogies, you see… The open world of statewide grey-grey mundacity must not hear a word of what goes on in our alighted mozgs…

                Then it went in. A pop of Dim’s cockhead, a slippery little shove-in, in, and I arched and thought of all the wet little ptistas I’d rutted into and saw that I was giving away my power. I stood up on my shaky arms and thought that, no, it was simply a disadvantage, I got all the not-quite-vellocet up in my brain making me anti-sharp, is all. My guttiwuts clenched around that intrusive, big dick, and I barked out the best order I could. For I’m the leader.

                “You make it seem like you’ve got to rabbit when you fuck me! What a dull malchick you are. You fuck like an unoiled machine!” I laughed at him, and I arched, real slutty, I guess. Beckoning them.

                That fat cock seared me on in and then he went back, and forth, and in-out, in-out, and I was really getting into it then. I was hot molten cherry inside, see, and Dim was making all these _oh, oh, yeah, take it,_ noises, and he was really battering me. I felt every wet gushy pulse and every hot, sliding thrust. And even though I just splattered a dollop of cum against the concrete my dick was going hard again, my sharries filling up and feeling heavy. I huffed and thought of how softened up I was back there. My gulliver was all searing and I rocked back and forth on that fat, wet organ, all full and hefty and using me. I clenched on that rod and felt good with it. Felt full. I could feel it pushing at my guttiwuts, I really could—like I had eaten some good pischa and it was sitting in the pit of my tummy but it was also pressing at this place behind my cock that made me clench and made my own cock drool. Oh, I felt absolutely used, my brothers, absolutely depraved; but at once the most significant malchick in the world. A malenky bezoomy, I must admit. But I always have been a malenky bezoomy; or like the sharpest malchick.

                Useless it was to grab at my own tool for some relief. Georgie’s hands came and swatted at them, and he talked down all chastise-teacher-therapist: “No, no, Alexboy, tonight we play, not you.”

                And he kneeled in front of me as if on a soapbox, and I put my hands as if praying to him as if he’s a godman and I said, all humor and goodness, my belly full of cock, jittering and rocking as I held onto him, Dim pounding me from behind, “Give your wifey a kiss, won’t you?”

                So we placed our goobers upon each other’s and I gave him a long, sloppy kiss, my pink tongue prying into his mouth and his teeth gnashing against mine and clicking, slurping and trading back saliva, and somehow a string of drool got slapped upon my cheek and I huffed in the night, sharing all this breath like I was giving life. My brothers, I was so very good at being leader, at being helpful. This was real horrorshow nursing, this was. (And this was how I justified it because I was ein bisschen drunk on the moloko and you may govoreet that I’m a big know-it-all, real nadmenny, but I’m Alex _Delarge_.)

                Then Georgie lifted me up so I was impaled on Dim’s cock for a second as he got real comfy, podooshka-soft on the ground beneath me, his legs bracketing Dim’s larger ones, and I knew that our lubilubbing was going to be more. And I thought of how much I’ve always wanted more not for the currency but for the thrill. Oh, this was pretty polly for them, and so I’d make it for me, you see?

                “Get it in, get it in,” I huffed, voice all strained and maybe some fat boytears trickled down my cheeks at that point, out my azure ocean glazzies; my jewels. O Brothers I was not one for sophistication there on the alley floor, two fat cocks poking at where I was wide open and wet, where I was being filled.

                Dim now: “You want more, little Alex? Are you a needy ptitsa?”

                “Say something new,” I huffed.

                “Oh, he wants it,” Georgie provided, “He wants it, alright. Look at that. He’s drooling for it on both ends!” He pushed his fingers up through my mouth and tongue and lipsticked my own spit upon my rot.

                And with a laugh Georgie hooked a finger in my hole, right beside that fat battering prick, and I heard my own body squelch with spit and precum and I don’t know how much it hurt, I hardly felt my hands, my legs, but I felt the distantly pleasant sensation of a real horrowshow pan-handle being jutted up against the other.

                Georgie’s finger left and his erection went in. Slow. Dim stopped going so hard and I took that time to breathe in all the poison, wet air in my poor, suffering chest, and then I made a pathetic creech as two-for-the-price-of-one pain seared white behind my glazzies which were, at this point in time, O brothers, leaking wet globby-globs of tears, and I went weak on my hands that were already struggling to hold up my body weight and Dim’s much more considerable like heaviness. I laid on Georgie, looking like some raggedy toy and thought of secret-keeping and of the hot throb of my pan-handle against Georgie’s shirt. I really focused in on that, viddy, like that’s my own pleasure, you viddy? So I thought of how it felt to get some friction on my hot knob and I went rabbiting at getting myself all wet again.

                “He really likes it,” said the observant Dim.

                And now I was there, sheathing not one but two pricks that were slipping against each other inside me, that were pushing me out and making me all wet and full inside. I let out a stream of expletives and I let it happen. Oh, I stayed there, rocking lazily like I was doing nothing but rabbiting my podooshka, like nothing more than a malchick just in skolliwoll. And I was cored out, brothers, I was used and thrust into, my opening loose and my breathing going bad and these two shaika malchicks going at me and _haw-haw-hee-hee_ -ing the whole way, my body making noises that I wouldn’t govoreet, and my tool going drooly and wet and staining the stained-already uniform white on the less-white cotton again.

                Oversensitive from a second orgasm I must have like nachinatted out some protests, because now it wasn’t so sexy. It was just moist and itchy and like a sore being prodded after the good part of peeling off the scab had already been completed. But they didn’t listen to me, no, my brothers. Deafness coincided with their pleasure of taking me, Dim fucking out long and Georgie spilling first. I felt wild and lost and very hot against him, my hands prickling, my skin all goose-fleshy. My face was dry now and the old tracks of my tears were cooling in that midnight winter air. I felt like I’d had too much synthmesc yet again, but at the same time I found myself like about to zasnoot.

                Dim took longer, Georgie had slipped out now and was making all these claims of praise and exaltation with mocking reverence, like some malchick condescendingly talking to a babe. I mustered some power as I was still being battered, which was a feat, because my asshole was all loose after two cocks had been wrestling inside me, sliding through each other’s cum, and I knocked my knuckles against his cheek weakly in a show of my disapproval.

                Then Dim hauled me back suddenly, I was yanked up from my spot, and I was pulled so my back was pressed flush against his front, essentially sitting like on his lap. And the veck went in-out-in-out, so hard I could schmeckt it, in the back of my throat, I could viddy it, back of my glazzies. My mounch hung open for insects. I sat down on his dick as it went up and it hit me somewhere that made me see things as a phantasmagoria. Oh, brothers, it was real horrorshow, the nebulae blooming behind my eyes as I felt an orgasm that transcended orgasms build up. I came what little moloko I could produce on the _Thrice_ , and my toes curled, and Dim laughed in my ear with this bellowing, deep sound. I iddied limp against him, letting my eyes open sleepily and feeling very ashamed but satiated, kind of like after a big meal.

                Georgie had been viddying, propped upon his elbows, and I stretched out a leg and put a toe on his nose in a very playful and girly like gesture. “Enjoy the show, did you, love?” I said. I figured I must have been drunk, then, and let my gulliver tilt back and to ask Dim, “And you? You have your release satiated?” Oh, I couldn’t keep the snarl from me.

                “Welly well-well… not quite.” There was a smile of malicious, grit zoobies in his voice.

                In my state of innocent victimization, I could not make sense of this gloopy cal, and I tried to ask, to think of it, but he answered me. Not with words, but with a _gesture_. (Oh, that’s such a polite way of saying things, for I’m a malchick of civility.) Georgie viddied with wide eyes and could only muster a weak, half-guff. And Dim, the fat sod, began to use me like a vaysay. Would you believe it, brothers? The sod really pissed in your hero and humble narrator, your innocent victim, your never-baddiwad showstopper. I felt it fill me and sear me on the inside like a lot of cum and felt plugged, full, a little bolnoy about the whole thing. Dim was smecking as he did it and I called him a dog, a sod, a bastard, a sodding dog-breeding bastard. And Georgie seemed all red like he liked it. I hated them both. But my curiosity could not be tamed, for I’m a learning malchick, alrighty-right, and I looked down to see if I could watch that stinking piss dribble out. I hit Georgie again, an innocent bystander, at this point. It was ittying all over him, too, still under us. The evidence of it made us all three sloppy and wet and stinking-hot-golden.

                When Dim pulled out, he pushed me onto Georgie, who I did not stop from taking my weight in all its force, and he hiked up your narrator’s handsome, slim hips. Alex was probed by two thumbs and I could _feel_ the laugh of observation, the fevered breaths against my grazzy skin. He pushed all that cum and piss out of me and I made a coughing gag like noise. It trickled down my sharries and pooled on Georgie, still warm from being in both our bodies.

                Dim said, “Dva better than odin.”

**Author's Note:**

> [request/tipping info](https://bibles.carrd.co/#)


End file.
